


Tales of a Lonely Road

by secretfeanorian



Series: the worst things in life come free to us [15]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-16
Updated: 2014-08-16
Packaged: 2018-02-13 11:35:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2149239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/secretfeanorian/pseuds/secretfeanorian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He thinks he can hear music, but even if he isn’t imagining its existence, he has no idea where the source could possibly be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tales of a Lonely Road

_I can’t tell you how many have stood where you stand now. Men see a strange shape preserved in rock and they think, “Time is vast.” But the truth is far more disturbing. Time is endless.  
_

* * *

Sometimes, it seems to Maglor like only hours have passed, then he looks to find it has been days or even weeks and sometimes he feels like years have passed and it has truly only been minutes. The hours are empty and he sits on the sand as they pass him by.  
  
He’s found his way back to the beach, as he always has and as he probably always will. Fog rolled in a few hours ago and it has yet to even begin to clear. Maglor sits on the sand and feels the fog blow around him. He feels words bubbling up in his chest and when he begins to hum, the fog twists into shapes and faces.  
  
Maglor lets the tune fall silent after only a few moments that hardly encompass a minute. He stares into the fog that blocks his view of the ocean. He thinks he can hear music, but even if he isn’t imaging its existence, he has no idea where it’s coming from, so he doesn’t move from his spot to search for the source.  
  
The wind whips his hair around and in front of his face. It would be blocking his vision, but he can’t see much of anything anyway, so it does nothing to hinder his line of sight. The fog is thicker than Maglor can remember it ever being and this beach is familiar in a way that makes him cringe with uneasiness.  
  
Although he can’t see any seabirds, their calls are loud and unmistakable, and with every passing minute full of those cries, his muscles get a little bit tenser. He can hear the waves crashing on the shore and he can smell the salt in the air and it makes him want to run out into the waves and try to swim home. He knows that that wouldn’t work, wouldn’t even need to try to know, but the urge fills him nonetheless. There’s an ache in his chest and with each passing moment, it grows more and more painful; larger and larger.  
  
He hears footsteps coming toward him and belatedly notices that the mysterious music that may or may not have been only his imagination has ceased. The footsteps halt a small distance behind him, and someone sits down beside him. He waits, and doesn’t say anything. “Feanorian.” The someone says and Maglor has already identified him.  
  
“Daeron,” is his response and the other elf makes some noise of acknowledgement.  
  
“Saw you on the news,” Daeron says. “Course, I saw you there a long while ago.”  
  
Maglor huffs tiredly. “I don’t know who I was kidding. I belong in the shadows; silent and forgotten.”  
  
“You were in a bad place last time I saw you,” is all Daeron says in response and Maglor sighs.  
  
“Yeah. I got lucky, I suppose. They found me, helped me right my mind, even refused to let me down in guilt.”  
  
Maglor can’t see Daeron’ face – the fog isn’t that thick, but he still hasn’t turned around – but he can almost feel the rise of the Doriarthian elf’s eyebrows. “That’s quite the feat.” He says and Maglor had known he was going to say exactly that before the words even passed the other’s lips. He doesn’t know whether to be sarcastic or sincere in response, so he just settles for a grunt and closes his eyes.  
  
Neither elf says anything for a while, then Daeron reaches forward to grasp Maglor’s shoulder. He doesn’t say anything along the lines of “it’s good to see you again” or anything at all, but Maglor finally turns to look at Daeron and it’s actually a relief to see the other elf. He smiles and grasps Daeron’s hand and then he lets go.  
  
The other minstrel drops his hand, but the message has been passed on and some of the tension leaves Maglor’s shoulders. They sit in silence until the fog begins to clear and then they stand, Daeron heading one way along the beach and Maglor heading in the other. Neither turns around and neither calls out.  
  
The two elves may be different, but as the last of their kind, they understand each other. Centuries of bad blood and hatred begin to fall away over the millennia when you’re the only two left that live on and never die. They don’t intentionally bump into each other and the last time they had seen each other was when Maglor’s gripping insanity was new and not so complete, but there was a time after the loss of everything Maglor valued where he had still retained the majority of his sanity and they had encountered each other on several occasions during that time period.  
  
Maglor doesn’t leave the coastline, but he suspects Daeron does. The other never liked the ocean much. In all the years, Maglor can’t remember him ever leaving the woods and surrounding countryside. He must have come looking for Maglor. Maglor feels a little bit…he’s doesn’t know exactly how that makes him feel, but whatever the feeling is, it’s a good one.  
  
The next day, he climbs out on top of a sea cave and waits there as the tide comes in. He watches the surf crash violently against the rocks and tilts his head back and listens. The wind has kicked up again and the sea is rough. He feels the spray on his face and tries not to think of white boats bobbing on a vengeful sea.  
  
He only partially succeeds and as soon as the tide has receded, he make his way down and walks back the way he had come, climbing up away from the beach. He sits on a bluff overlooking the sand and he almost starts singing, but a couple passes him on their way down to the beach and instead of singing, he hunches over and hopes they don’t recognize him.  
  
He’d regret all that had happened to lead up to that hiding, but the Avengers had given him the strength to save himself from the darkness in his mind and he just can’t regret that. He uncurls his legs from against his chest and he watches the horizon with tired, but unblinking eyes.  
  
A strong gust of wind blows back the hood on his jacket and flings his braided hair from where it had been resting around his neck. The braid is tight and it doesn’t come undone, but enough hair is pushed back that he can feel that his ears are visible. Nervously, he forces his hood back up, but the wind pushes it back off almost instantly. He huffs in annoyance and uneasiness, then yanks it back over his head and holds it there.  
  
After a few minutes, he stands back up and heads further away from the shoreline. He thinks he hears someone calling his name, but when he turns around, there’s no one there. He turns in a full circle, but still doesn’t see anyone.  
  
Fog has once again come in from the sea and while it’s not nearly as thick as it had been the previous day, it’s still thick enough that it could be hiding whoever was calling his name. He waits a few minutes, but no one appears out of the mist and he doesn’t hear his name being called again, so he shrugs and turns back the way he’d come.  
  
The mist encircles and envelops him and when Steve appears out of the gloom, he has disappeared and it’s as if he was never even there at all.


End file.
